Roger's heart bounded with joy. For some weeks past he had been very much alive to the fact that Athenais would soon be returning to Paris for the winter season, but that did not open properly until the Court returned from Fontainebleau in mid-November; and this order meant that he would see his cherished angel considerably earlier than would otherwise have been the case.
Within an hour of the Marquis's leaving Paris, Roger was on his way. Once more he passed through Rambouillet, Chartres, Alencon, Mayenne, Vitre and Rennes without giving a thought to their historic interest. The hooves of the many horses he bestrode all rang out the same magic rhythm: "Ath-en-als, Ath-en-ais, Ath-eh-ais."
When he reached Rennes it was already well on in the afternoon, but he pushed on and covered the last miles after darkness had fallen. This time he did not go round to the stable entrance, but rode up to the front door and hammered upon it with his riding-crop as impatiently as any young lordling.
From the subdued, greeting of the footman who answered it he sensed that something was wrong. Then he noticed that the man was wearing a pair of old cloth breeches, that his livery coat was half unbuttoned, having been pulled on hastily, and that the great hall was not lit as brightly as was customary when any member of the family was in residence. Throwing the reins of his horse over an iron hook.
Roger stepped inside. The gloomy shadows seemed to reach out, engulfing him in a cold fear.
"What has been happening here?" he cried to the servant, his voice high with sudden apprehension. "Where is Aldegonde? Why do you stare at me so glumly? Tell me what's wrong; or if you've not the courage, go get him—instantly."
At that moment the fat major-domo came shambling through a door at the back of the hall. He was not in livery but wore an old dressing-gown and heel-less slippers.
"Ah, Monsieur Breuc!" he exclaimed in a doleful voice, as he came forward, "I heard your horse's hooves and wondered who it could be riding up at this late hour. You find us in a poor state to welcome anyone."
Roger slapped his leg impatiently with his riding-crop. "What has befallen you all? Why is the place in semi-darkness? What calamity has plunged you in such gloom?"
"Alas, Monsieur, we have been beset with troubles for a fortnight back. It must be that since Madame Velot slipped upon the stairs and broke her leg."
"Go on, man!" snapped Roger. "One does not douse three-quarters of the lights because a woman breaks her leg. Speak up, or by thunder I'll break my riding-crop across your shoulders!"
Aldegonde had already taken in Roger's new finery, as the dust of the road did not disguise his well-cut, pearl-grey riding suit and doeskin gauntlets. In the past six months he had not only put on an inch in height but grown in mental stature far beyond that proportion. The old major-domo knew the voice of authority when he heard it. Far from showing resentment at this imperious treatment he positively cringed, and wrung his hands together, as he murmured:
" 'Tis no fault of ours, Monsieur; and I mentioned Madame Velot's accident only because 'twas the day she broke her leg that we first heard of the sickness in the village. 'Tis the great pox, no less, and half the staff are now stricken with it."
"Mademoiselle Athenais?" croaked Roger.
The major-domo nodded. "She, too, Monsieur, and for the past three days she has been delirious."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FELL DISEASE
ROGER had known it. From the very second that the doors of the chateau had been opened he had felt certain that some terrible calamity had befallen Athenais. Up to the last moment he had still hoped against hope that he was wrong and had lacked the courage to pronounce her name. But now he knew the worst, and it was horrible to contemplate.
Owing to the filth in which the peasants lived, crowded together like animals in their miserable dwellings, such sporadic outbreaks were not uncommon. They often halved the younger population of a small community in a month, then died away, leaving the majority of the survivors scarred and disfigured for life. Roger knew that Athenais, instead of taking coach to Rennes at the first tidings of the epidemic, must have stayed on to succour her stricken people, as only by actual contact with them could she have caught the disease herself.
"Where is the doctor?" Roger demanded, his voice suddenly quiet again after his outburst.
"We have no doctor living here, Monsieur," replied Aldegonde. "The nearest is Doctor Gonnet of Montfort. 'Twas he who set Madame Velot's leg, and since the sickness came he has ridden over every other day. He will be here again to-morrow."
"Who is looking after Mademoiselle?"
"Mere Sufflot, the midwife from the village. Mademoiselle's maid, Edmee, and several of the younger servants have run away, from fear of catching the sickness."
"Has no attempt been made to get help from Rennes?"
Aldegonde spread out his hands. "I had not thought of that, Monsieur. It seemed to me that Doctor Gonnet was doing all that can be done."
It did not take Roger long to size up the situation. In England, in such a case, the servants would have shown initiative and spirit. They would have taken charge and secured proper medical aid; and no lady's maid worth her salt would have run away. But here in France things were very different. If you had your footman whipped for spilling a cup of chocolate on your gown you could not expect loyal service from him at a time of crisis. Just as the Marquis had been completely unmoved by d'Heury's death, so the servants at Becherel did not give a straw whether their young mistress lived or died.
"Have my old room prepared," said Roger sharply, "and have all the candles lit. From to-morrow morning the servants are to appear properly dressed in their liveries and go about their usual duties. Since Mademoiselle is still in residence 'tis fitting that the service of the chateau should be conducted in a normal manner."
For the first time Aldegonde showed resentment at his tone. "Since when," he said sullenly, "has it been Monsieur's place to give orders here?"
"Since the moment I put my foot inside the door," Roger rapped back, assuming an authority to which he had no shadow of right. "I am Monseigneur's emissary. While Mademoiselle remains tied to her bed you'll take your orders from me, or 'twill be the worse for you. Have a bottle of vinegar and some cloves of garlic put in my room, also some cold food and wine. I go now to see Madame Velot."
At this reference to the Marquis the major-domo's attempt to assert himself collapsed like a pricked bubble. He bowed submissively as, without another glance at him, Roger strode with jingling spurs across the great hall.
When he knocked at Madame Marie-Ange's door she called to him to come in and, on entering the room, he saw that she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her surprise at seeing him was only equalled by her pleasure, but he found her in a sad state. In her fall she had fractured her hip as well as her leg. She was still in considerable pain and her injuries having been set in splints it was impossible for her to move the lower part of her body.
On her telling him about her accident he well remembered the treacherous marble stairs that had been the cause of it, as he had narrowly escaped breaking his own nose by slipping on them the preceding autumn.
She was terribly distressed about Athenais, but the pain she was in herself appeared to have robbed her of all her powers of concentration. It seemed that she had faith in Dr. Gonnet and could only keep on repeating that with the help of le bon Dieu all would be well. Roger learned that it was she who had sent for Mere Sufflot from the village to nurse Athenais, as the old woman was the only person in the locality who had any professional experience; and that she was being looked after herself by the head chambermaid.
When Roger announced that he intended to go and see Athenais, she made a faint protest, and murmured something about it being most improper for him to enter a young lady's room; but he waved the objection aside and, after having rearranged her pillows for her, marched determinedly off down the corridor.
At his knock, Mere Sufflot opened the door to him. She proved to be a bleary-eyed
old crone and stank like a polecat. Looking round he saw that the room was of splendid dimensions. It could have accommodated four full-sized billiard-tables and there would still have been ample space to spare. The heavy-brocaded curtains were drawn and a great wood fire was roaring in the big grate, making the room stiflingly hot. A huge four-poster bed occupied the centre of the wall opposite the windows; but, from where he stood he could not see Athenais, as she was hidden from him by a screen.
"How is Mademoiselle?" he asked the old woman, in a low voice.
"The fever has abated, Monsieur," she replied with a cringing leer. "Mademoiselle is out of danger, but I fear that her pretty face will be sadly marked."
"Is she sleeping?"
"No. She has slept most of the day, and 'twas when she woke an hour ago that I knew her to be past the crisis." "Who relieves you here at night?"
The old woman's bleary eyes showed faint surprise. "Why, no one, Monsieur. I have not left the room for three days. Monsieur Aldegonde sends up trays of food for us which are left outside the door. None of them would come in here while the sickness is still infectious."
"Then go downstairs now and get some fresh air. Be back in an hour."
With an awkward curtsey and a servile grin that showed the gaps between her yellow teeth, Mire Sufflot left him. Then he tiptoed across the soft Aubusson carpet to the foot of the bed.
Athenais lay propped up against her pillows. She was awake and fully conscious. Her bright blue eyes seemed larger than ever, but her face smaller, under the great coif of hair that was incongruously piled up on her head. It was only with difficulty that he repressed a start of dismay as he saw the ravages that the disease had made on her lovely features. Great suppurating sores blotched her forehead, cheeks and chin, and she was dabbing at them with a soiled cambric handkerchief.
As she saw him her eyes flickered, then she threw up her hands and pressed them against her face.
"Don't do that!" he said softly. "For goodness sake be careful. It's absolutely imperative that you should not touch those sores."
Slowly she lowered her hands and said in a husky voice: "What brings you here?"
"Monseigneur desired me to bring the papers on which I was working last winter to Paris for him. I arrived but half an hour ago, and words cannot express my distress at the condition in which I find you."
"How come you in my room?" she asked dully.
"I am here to make better arrangements for your attention, Mademoiselle. How long is it since that old woman washed you?"
"She has made no attempt to do so; and I would not let her lay a finger on me if she tried."
"That I can understand; yet you must be washed by someone. I see your sheets need changing too, and the room smells like a charnel house. But I learn that you are past the crisis, so at least we may thank God for that."
"I care not any longer. I have no wish to live now that my looks are ruined."
"Oh, come!" he pleaded with a smile. "Your sores are only just beginning to heal, and if you do not interfere with them they will not mark you. But to start with, you must have clean linen and fresh air, instead of allowing your room to remain a forcing-house for the pestilence." As he spoke, he turned away and walked across the room.
Her husky voice came after him: "What are you about to do?"
"Open two of your windows," he replied.
"Leave well alone," she said sharply. "You are no doctor, and have no right to alter matters here. A draught might kill me."
"Nay. Fresh air never killed anyone," he said over his shoulder. "And I pray you, Mademoiselle, not to make things more difficult for me. My only desire is to serve you and see you well again."
Drawing back the heavy curtains he opened two of the windows and let in the cool night breeze; but he stoked up the fire before returning to her bedside.
As he approached she said, suddenly: "You look different. You have grown; and yes, you are dressed like, like…"
"Like a noble," he supplied the word for her with a smile. "Fine feathers make fine birds, do they not, Mademoiselle? But would you have had me always remain a pettifogging clerk?"
"I am indifferent to what you are or what you may become," she replied coldly.
He bowed slightly. "That, Mademoiselle, is my dire misfortune, but you may depend upon it that I shall never cease to be your most humble and obedient servant."
Turning away from her he quietly left the room, went downstairs, found a footman, and ordered fresh sheets and warm water to be sent up. When they arrived on the landing he carried them into the room and, setting them down, looked through the drawers of a chest until he found a shift of fine linen. Having torn it into strips he picked up the bowl of water and walked over to the bed.
"You are not to touch me," she whispered, her eyes distended with dislike and fear. Then as she saw that he intended to ignore her words she wriggled down in the great bed and drew the sheets up to her chin.
Dipping the linen in the water he began to cleanse the sores upon her face, taking the greatest care not to disturb any of the scabs that were beginning to form round their edges. After a little she eased herself up and let him bathe her neck and hands without further protest. When he had done he found a comb, undid her hair, combed and brushed it and did it up again in two long plaits.
"That is better," he said at last. "And now you must get out of bed for a few minutes while I change the sheets."
"I'll do no such thing," she croaked with a flash of anger. "I'd rather die than let you see me naked."
"Be sensible," he laughed. " 'Tis better that I should do it than that old Woman who reeks of brandy and doubtless carries the pox herself. Here's your robe-de-chambre. Slip it on, then curl yourself up in the duvet. I promise I won't look while you are doing so."
"I won't," she gasped.
He shook his head. " 'Tis that or I'll have you out of that filthy bed as you are. The choice lies with you, Mademoiselle." "You swear you will not look?" "I swear it."
He walked away and turned his back. Two minutes later he caught a muffled whisper: "Monsieur Breuc, I am at your disposal."
When he looked he saw that the duvet now formed a big ball in the middle of the bed with only one small pink foot showing from it. Slipping his arms under the bundle he lifted it with ease and carrying its precious contents over to the fire deposited it gently in a chair. Then he changed the sheets and pillow-cases, carried the bundle back again and said: "You can get back into bed now. I am going behind the screen."
Having given her a minute or two he emerged to find her sitting up as he had first found her. "Now," he said, "I trust you will at least give me the satisfaction of admitting that you feel more comfortable."
"I do, Monsieur," she replied, a shade more graciously. "And—and, I thank you for it."
He was just about to say something else when the door opened and Mere Sufflot came in.
Momentarily disconcerted he looked at her in silence for a few seconds, then he said: "Please go downstairs again, and ask someone to have hot water placed in my room."
The old woman gave her awkward bob and bustled out again.
Turning back to Athenais he once more walked up to the side of her bed and spoke with all the feeling that he could command.
"Mademoiselle. The last .thing I wish to do is to tire you with unnecessary talk; but there is something that I must say to you. Something that I have been waiting for nearly a year to say. It concerns the day on which your horse ran away and, through my fault, you were thrown into the river. You were quite right to be angry with me for the liberty I took. I realised that afterwards and I meant to tell you how sorry I was for what I had done; but before I had a chance to do so you had left for Paris. I wish now to offer you my humblest apologies and to assure you that I would never have done such a thing, had I not been near insane from love of you."
Her blotched face remained quite expressionless, as she said slowly: "You did not kiss me because you loved me. 'Twas out of hatred.
'Twas because I had scorned your advances. You wished to humiliate me in return and took a mean revenge."
"Nay, Mademoiselle, I protest," cried Roger. "I have loved you since the very first moment that I set eyes on you. And 'twas love that drove me mad that day."
"Would you then claim that you love me still?" she asked, her eyes over-bright from a return of the fever.
"Indeed, I do!"
"You lie! 'Tis that you have wormed yourself into my father's good graces, and fear that I yet may tell of your assault upon me. You seek my pardon only to protect your place."
"That is not true! I care not a fig if I remain in your father's service, or leave it! Except as it affects my chances of seeing you. 'Tis love alone that made me hasten here at breakneck speed, and 'tis love alone that makes me plead for your forgiveness."
"I'll not believe it!"
"I swear it!"
Her eyes glittered with a feverish light. "Then kiss me again! Now! This very moment; hideous as I am and ridden with disease!"
Without the slightest hesitation he stooped and placed his mouth against her dry and burning lips. He knew full well the danger that he was running but he would have walked through fire to prove his love for her, and he made himself keep his lips pressed against hers for a long moment.
It was the sound of the door opening that made them jerk their heads apart, but Roger had time to step quietly back a pace before Mere Sufflot came round the end of the screen.
Athenais's face was now flushed scarlet between the blotches. Her eyes were lowered and she would not raise them as he said:
"There is one more thing, Mademoiselle. An unpleasant one, I fear, but necessary, if we are to save your face from being scarred. Now that your sores are beginning to heal they will itch abominably. Lest the temptation to scratch them prove too much for you we must tie your hands behind your back."
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